


Legacy Avoidance in the Form Of Normalcy

by Red_Tigress



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-The Falcon and the Winter Soldier (TV), Roommates, Written Pre-TFATWS, Written post Infinity Saga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/pseuds/Red_Tigress
Summary: They stared at each other for a silent minute.“How’d you get past the doorman?” Sam asked.Barnes smirked. “Please.”Sam narrowed his eyes but stepped back and opened the door. “You’re not in trouble, are you? Being pursued by a super-secret evil organization? Need a place to lay low? That seems to happen to me a lot.”Barnes huffed. “Not currently.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	Legacy Avoidance in the Form Of Normalcy

Sam’s phone buzzed, and he slapped his hand against the nightstand. It buzzed again and he groaned, blinking sleep from his eyes as his fingers fumbled around for the offending item. It buzzed a third time, and he pulled it towards him in the bed, blinking harshly as the back light seemed to light up the room.

_3 New texts._

With a little bit of eagerness, but much more hesitation, he opened the group chat for the Avengers. What was left of them, anyway.

Two new selfies from Peter of him…giving a bike to someone, and…eating a burrito? Followed by a thumbs up emoji from Scott.

Sam growled, and dropped his phone back onto the nightstand, and buried his face in his pillow.

It had been like this for days.

Sam kept waiting for someone to step up, to…

_Take Steve’s place._

He growled again, hating the intrusive thought. No one could take Steve’s place. No one would.

There was a now familiar pit that opened up in his stomach whenever he thought about it. It’s why the shield was wrapped in a moving blanket stuffed underneath the hotel bed. He reached down, feeling the edges of the blanket, before his fingers shot back up like he’d been burned.

He rolled over in the bed, touching his fists to his forehead, and staring at the ceiling.

His phone buzzed again, interrupting his thoughts.

Slowly, but also aching for the distraction, he reached for his phone.

This time, it was an email for an apartment he had applied to. Of course his old place was long gone, sold out while he was…while most people were…

Sam read the message and tried not to think about dying.

He was approved. A nice place in Silver Spring. Two bedrooms. Near downtown and the Metro.

Sam tapped the screen for a minute, a stray thought worming its way into his head. He opened his contacts.

_You got a place to live?_

A few minutes passed before his phone buzzed.

_Yeah._

Sam clicked his tongue in thought for a few minutes, trying to parse out in his own mind what his goal was here.

_If it doesn’t work out, I got an extra room in a new place in DC._

No reply. Sam put down his phone, and stared at the ceiling in the dark for a while, trying not to think about the legacy just a few feet away.

The move into his new apartment was uneventful. Sam didn’t really have any belongings anymore, so the first few nights he slept on the floor. He got a tv early on too, but after a few days of seeing the media talk about the Avengers like they were a fantasy football team with “rosters”, it was off most of the time. The first time he saw a news anchor speak so callously about which ones of them were still alive, he’d fought to keep down the bile in his throat.

Sam had spoken with a few members of the government, including Ross, and some guy named Hayward whom after 5 minutes Sam decided he had no desire to work with. Sam got a new number, making sure to bring over some important contacts. He hesitated about importing the Avengers group chat, but decided at the very least, he could probably count on Scott and Peter if things ever got really hairy. Sam knew they would, but…he didn’t know who was ready for it. The only other people in the chat were Scott’s girlfriend, whom he hadn’t really met but it sounded like she could also shrink (okay, two tiny people, cool), and another number that he think belonged to some other guy named Peter who apparently lived in space so he never used it.

He had Steve’s number, but neither of them had reached out to each other since what had essentially been Steve’s goodbye.

Sam fell back into his old routine of working with veterans organizations. People had been organized into two categories. People who were alive the past 5 years, and people who…hadn’t been. People like him. They were still talking about survivors’ guilt, about fear, about terrifying nights or the moment they had come back into existence, but this was new territory Sam felt like he was charting right along with the people he was supposed to be helping.

He felt adrift.

The last time he had felt so directionless, had been the first few months after Riley died, and the program was dissolved. The Air Force hadn’t really known what to do with the single, failed Falcon, and he’d been relegated to desk jockey, until he was honorably discharged.

Although back then, he hadn’t had to watch them talk about it on CNN.

On Sam’s darker days, he found himself getting irrationally angry at Steve. Their other leaders were dead, and Steve had abandoned them. Logically, Sam knew Steve had been through…so much. Sam couldn’t even begin to process it. He would probably do the exact same thing in Steve’s situation. Illogically, Sam couldn’t shake that feeling that after everything, Steve had left them behind. Had left _him_ with an impossible task.

So, he tried not to think about it, but it was so hard. Between his job, being alone, and the Avengers currently being an apathetic group text, he couldn’t avoid it.

Which was why when there was a knock on his door at 10PM on a Tuesday night, Sam felt new emotions snapping into focus for the first time in months. Confusion, alertness, caution, curiosity. Those feelings turned to surprise, and maybe a little annoyance, when he opened the door to see none other than James Buchanan Barnes standing in the hallway.

They stared at each other for a silent minute.

“How’d you get past the doorman?” Sam asked.

Barnes smirked. “ _Please._ ”

Sam narrowed his eyes but stepped back and opened the door. “You’re not in trouble, are you? Being pursued by a super-secret evil organization? Need a place to lay low? That seems to happen to me a lot.”

Barnes huffed. “Not currently.” He stepped past Sam into the living room of his condo, and slowly looked around, appraisingly. Sam had outfitted most of the place with furniture, if only because it gave him something to do. Barnes ran his right hand over the top of the couch, like he was testing it. He was dressed in just jeans and a large jacket, carrying only a duffel over his shoulder. A baseball cap was pulled down low over his face, but Sam could see the long hair was gone. His beard had also been trimmed and cleaned up. He wasn’t giving off the manic fight or flight energy Sam had generally come to associate with the man.

He looked good. But Sam would never say as much to his face. “Congratulations, you don’t look like you pulled yourself outta the rubble of some national disaster.”

Barnes stiffened, but then turned and eyed him warily. “And you look like a boring shut in. Surprised you don’t have ten cats in here.”

Sam huffed, closed the door behind him, and walked around Barnes to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. “Cats stink,” he grumbled. He put one of the beers on the kitchen island between them. Barnes approached slowly, taking the beer off the counter. Sam caught a glimpse of cold metal as the other man reached forward and snapped the cap off the bottle with his left hand. He dropped the duffle on the floor.

“This an invitation?” Barnes asked seriously.

Sam regarded the other man silently, as he took a bottle opener and opened his own beer. He supposed he had sort of invited him, but that was months ago. “You better be straight with me. You being chased?”

“No.”

“Did something else happen?”

“Not specifically,” Barnes replied, cagey as ever.

They stared at each other, neither offering any more information.

But, this was also the first contact with someone who knew the life that wasn’t a Spider-man selfie.

Sam sighed. “Look, I’m just startin’ this thing about Michael Jordan and the 90s Chicago Bulls-”

“Who?”

Sam laughed. “Oh my god, I’m gonna have to make you a list too. Jordan’s literally the greatest basketball player of all time. One of the greatest professional sports lineups in history.” Sam went over to the couch and resumed play. After a few minutes, Barnes still hadn’t moved. “You comin’, you wierdo?”

There was some tentative shuffling, and Barnes sank down into an easy chair, watching the screen. “I like baseball,” he mumbled.

“That’s because your little 40s basketball teams were tepid as hell,” Sam grinned. “Settle in, there’s some great footage in here.”

Sam let himself forget about the other man in his living room for a while. Barnes was so quiet, and Sam just didn’t have the energy at the moment to think about anything else but the documentary on the screen in front of him. After they had been watching about an hour, Sam stretched.

“Listen, you don’t have to talk now or anything, but you can stay in the room on the left.” He pointed out the guest bedroom. “Bathroom’s there,” another point, “…and if I hear you making noise before 7AM there’ll be hell to pay. But that shouldn’t be too hard for the world’s greatest assassin, or whatever your current moniker is.”

“Fine.” Came the grumble from the couch.

Sam went into his own room and shut the door, listening. After a few minutes, he heard the other door close. He could deal with this in the morning. After a run and coffee.

When Sam got back from his run, Barnes was sitting on a stool at the kitchen, looking at his phone. Sam startled for a moment, honestly forgetting he left him there.

Barnes looked up as he entered.

“I know who Dennis Rodman is now.”

“Oh, that so?” Sam huffed, snagging his water bottle off the table. “I don’t remember giving you the wifi password.”

Barnes shrugged.

Sam chugged some water, regarding Bucky curiously. “Oh, you hack the wifi with some secret spy shit on your phone?”

“No. I guessed your password. You really like that little bird bot.” A smug look crossed his face.

“ _Redwing_ is an artificial intelligence,” he growled. “Being the cyborg that you are, I’m sure you’d get along famously.”

“Sounds like he’s already _your_ best friend. You can’t even get real birds to come near you, you need a fake one.” Barnes’ smirked.

Sam grabbed a carton of eggs out of the fridge. “Look who’s talking,” he grumbled, taking a pan out as well and turning on the stove. “King of Wakanda took one look at you and decided you were a public enemy of the state.” He cracked some of the eggs into the pan.

“He got over it,” Barnes replied. Sam heard the sound of something slapping down on the counter and looked over.

A Wakandan passport was now sitting on the counter. Sam huffed, flipping the eggs over. “Must have been your _charming_ personality.” He scooped the eggs onto two plates, and put one in front of Barnes and tossed a fork to him. The other man snatched it out of the air with a speed that was literally superhuman. “Still can’t wait to see a white boy with a Brooklyn accent start flapping around a Wakandan passport.”

Barnes took a bite out of his eggs. “You have any bacon?”

“No,” Sam grumbled. He took a half-eaten loaf of bread from the bread box and tossed it on the counter between them. “Toaster’s over there if you’re still hungry.”

Barnes got up and moved over to the toaster. Sam watched him carefully. The tension he associated with the super soldier had lessened considerably. Barnes still was wary, alert, but his shoulders were relaxed, and he wasn’t constantly looking for danger. Sam was generally glad for him, even though he was still a pain in the ass.

He waited until the other man had gotten his toast and sat back down again. He took a bite of his own eggs, considering the other man. They had fallen back into their banter easily, and Sam had found some weird comfort in the fact. It didn’t ease his nervousness that Barnes was running from something, though.

“Why are you here Barnes?”

The other man munched his toast for a little bit before replying. “You just seem like maybe…you don’t want to be alone.” He looked down, avoiding Sam’s eyes. “And…I owe it to Steve. To look out for his friends. That he has left, I mean.” He said it quietly, before he looked up, and Sam tried to keep the look of surprise off his face. This was a peace offering if he’d ever heard one.

“Sure…sure.” Sam allowed. That seemed like probably not the whole truth. Especially considering Steve hadn’t texted him once, it seemed like a reach that maybe he’d asked Barnes to.

He let it go for the moment though. Even though it was only half an answer, it seemed honest. Sam pointed his fork at him. “I’m not cooking breakfast for you every day though. You gotta do some shopping.”

Barnes took another bite of toast and glared. “Fine,” he said around a mouthful.

“You also gotta be honest. You expecting trouble? Of the super variety?”

“Are _you_?”

Sam let his guard drop for a moment and rubbed his hand over his head. “You know, I honestly don’t know. What’s left of the Avengers is…just a group text. I don’t…I don’t _need_ to be in this game, man. But also what I’m doing now, what I did before…it doesn’t feel like enough anymore.” The image of the shield still wrapped in a moving blanket under his bed crosses his mind.

Barnes just munched his toast loudly, and Sam turned away, not liking the implication he was being studied.

“God knows _you_ could use a normal life for a while though,” he muttered.

Barnes shrugged, and pouted a bit. “Maybe.”

“So. How about it. Normal life for a while?” Barnes nodded, getting up to use the toaster again. Sam sighed. “We’re gonna need more groceries.”

Of course, normal life didn’t last. Not for people like them.

For a while, it felt normal. They bickered like normal roommates (“Have you ever had to clean anything in your _life?”_ ), snapped at each other when one person forgot to buy some grocery (“I have a superhuman _metabolism!”_ ), and argued over what they were going to watch every night (“What’s _Breaking Bad?” ”It’s about becoming a criminal because of the US Healthcare system.”_ ).

One night, Sam was starting to prep dinner when his phone buzzed.

_Can you pick me up?_

Sam was instantly suspicious. They’d been living together a few weeks now, and Barnes had been adamant he didn’t need a babysitter. Sam agreed, and had largely left him to his devices. Between his conditioning, and then the… _blip_ , everyone who knew who Barnes was had been far too concerned with his status. Barnes was taking time to re-establish his independence. Sam was happy to let him do that. Especially because it was low maintenance for him.

Sam squinted at his phone, then replied.

_Why?_

He only had to wait a few seconds before the reply came.

_Need a ride. Bring your suit._

Sam instantly scrambled to his bedroom, pulling out the trunk where his suit and wings were kept. He didn’t ask for clarification, but Barnes wouldn’t be asking for help if something wasn’t seriously wrong.

“Where are you?” he asked, having the phone translate to text while he threw on his gear.

His phone buzzed with a street name, and Sam was throwing open the sliding glass door on the balcony and taking off. It only took him a few minutes before he reached the street Barnes had texted and was gliding slowly over rooftops looking for any sign of his roommate.

He circled back around and on his second pass, he just saw a leg sticking out of an alley, unmoving.

He dropped down, trying to avoid attention from the street.

The leg belonged to a man he didn’t recognize, and immediately Sam felt a small wave of relief. That relief faded, when he turned, seeing a trail of bodies, five or so men, leading down the alley.

If Barnes was well enough to text though, that was a good sign. Right?

He looked at each one of the men as they went by, distantly noting no markings on any of their clothing and their chests were still rising and falling. They were lucky if they survived an encounter with the Winter Soldier. He gingerly stepped over splayed bodies. The alley ended at a low fence protecting the back of the building. He saw a few blood splatters on the fence, and lifted himself to hop over, following the trail.

He found himself on a small access road, with a few dumpsters propped up against the back of an apartment building. He vaguely caught the glow of an LED light source coming from behind one of the dumpsters.

He jogged over, and found Barnes sitting on the ground, but leaning against the dumpster, phone in his hand, but not looking at it. 

Sam squatted down, keeping his distance, one hand on the dumpster. “Couldn’t afford an Uber?”

Barnes huffed out a laugh, and Sam noticed he was holding his side with his left arm. On the ground next to him was a plastic bag with orange juice, salt and a roll of paper towels.

“Thanks for picking this stuff up,” Sam said gently, moving it out of the way.

“Gonna give me…shit if I didn’t,” was the raspy response.

“You know it.” Sam frowned, fingers hovering over the other man’s side. “Where are you hurt?”

Barnes pulled his arm away, and Sam took the phone out of his hand to shine the flashlight down on his jacket. He saw four tears there, and the jacket was wet. “I’ll be okay,” Barnes hissed.

“Can’t believe the Winter Soldier got stabbed on a grocery run,” Sam grumbled. “You are _really_ losing your touch. Who were they?”

“Not sure,” Barnes breathed and clunked his head back against the dumpster as Sam pulled his jacket away. “Jumped me.”

“God, I hope this means we don’t have to move.” Sam leaned down to scoop up Barnes, but the other man held out a hand.

“Please…don’t carry me…bridal style.”

“Well, how the hell else am I supposed to carry you and fly?” Barnes grimaced up at him and fixed him with a dead stare.

Which is how five minutes later, Sam found himself with Barnes’ arm draped around his shoulder, hobbling to the street as he watched the little car icon on his phone getting closer. “Uber’s four minutes away. We’re looking for a silver Honda Civic.”

Barnes just drew in a shuddering breath.

“ _Why_ did you say bring the suit if you won’t let me fly you home?”

“Don’t like…flying,” Barnes grumbled.

“You are gonna bleed all over the Uber, and then I’m gonna get a one-star rating. You know your rating directly influences how fast the car gets there, right?”

“Nnng…shuttup,” Barnes mumbled. Sam scoffed, just as a small Honda pulled into view. He pulled Barnes inside, along with their plastic bag of items, as Barnes swayed alarmingly.

Sam made eye contact with their driver.

“That uh…cosplay?” The driver tapped his own forehead, and Sam realized he was referring to his goggles.

“Uh, yeah. Great con!” Sam replied smiling.

The driver just nodded and focused back on the road.

Barnes was leaning on Sam kind of heavily now. Sam lightly tapped his cheek, and Barnes’ eyes fluttered. “I knew we shoulda flew. You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Yeeeeup,” Barnes said quietly.

“What is wrong with your friend?” The driver asked in a thick accent. “He, uh, drink?”

“Yep, yep,” Sam hurriedly agreed.

“Make sure he does not get sick,” the driver grumbled.

Sam rolled his eyes. “You got it pal,” he said cheerily. He felt Barnes shudder against him, but the other man remained silent, the shivers that wracked his frame the only sign of his distress. Sam rubbed his hand across the other man’s back. “Almost there,” he said quietly.

They made it back to the building, and Sam practically carried Barnes out of the car, and inside to the elevator. He felt wildly conspicuous walking through the brightly lit lobby in his full gear. He gave a slight wave to the doorman, who gave a confused wave back.

Once they were in the elevator, Barnes crashed against the wall heavily, and left a red smear on the reflective surface.

“I hope you didn’t ruin my Uber rating,” Sam mumbled, pulling him back up.

“Pretty sure…mostly…got it on you.”

Sam frantically looked down, and sure enough, his own suit was wet where Barnes had been leaning against him in the car.

“Gah! Biohazard much?” The elevator doors dinged and they stumbled out, down the hallway to the apartment. “Ah…shit,” the plastic bag rustled as Sam started patting down his pockets. “When I left…I flew off the balcony. I think I…forgot the keys.”

Sweating profusely, Barnes glared up at him. “You…serious?”

Sam grimaced, and made a show of patting down his suit again.

“Jesus,” Barnes growled. He reached his left arm forward, and Sam realized his intentions a split second before Barnes’ metal arm was ripping the door handle right out of the frame.

“NO!”

The door handle fell to the floor with a clunk, and the door to the apartment swung open.

“They’re gonna take that outta our deposit!” Sam whined, hauling Barnes indoors. Barnes just grunted, and Sam dragged him over to the bathroom. “You are paying for that!”

“Fine,” Barnes rasped as Sam hauled him into the tub and through the groceries on the floor. He kneeled down and began to dig around under the sink for his first aid kit. It was fairly hefty, and he hauled it out, tearing open gauze strips as he was. He looked back at Barnes whose fingers were fumbling weakly at his jacket. In the bright light of the bathroom, he looked paler than usual, and Sam could see the blood on his jacket. Barnes winced and Sam could see his jaw clench as he peeled the jacket away. Four tears in in Barnes’ shirt underneath were leaking blood. Sam swallowed thickly as he imagined a scenario where someone had grabbed Barnes from behind and tried to stab him as many times as possible before he could recover. Well, Sam had seen how that turned out for them.

Sam poured some rubbing alcohol over a gauze pad. “This is gonna sting,” he warned as he pulled Barnes shirt up.

“Just do it, _Mom_ ,” Barnes growled.

“You asked for it,” Sam smirked, and touched the gauze pad to the first wound. Barnes stiffened, and Sam smacked his metal arm as he saw his fingers begin to clench around the side of the tub. “Ah-ah! You’ve already destroyed too much of the apartment tonight!” Barnes’ fingers unclenched and he growled. He made a fist in the air but didn’t attempt to grab anything else. Sam continued gently wiping the blood away, and they sat in silence for a while, Sam cleaning, only interrupted by the occasional rattle of Barnes’ metal arm against the side of the tub.

The blood was already slowing, so Sam took out the suture kit and started slowly closing the wounds as Barnes’ stared off in the middle distance, no longer trembling. He relaxed enough to lower his arm to the side of the tub, his fist unclenching. After a few more minutes, Barnes’ breathing evened out.

“This sorta thing happen to you a lot these days?” Sam asked quietly.

“More often than I’d like,” Barnes replied, just as quietly.

“Know who they were?”

“Not yet.” Barnes slowly rotated his head, making eye contact with Sam who glanced back down to the sutures. “We may be in danger until I do.”

Sam shrugged and shook his head a bit. “Nah, man. This life…that ain’t nothin’ new.” Sam looked back up at him and raised his eyebrows. “It’d be easier with a working lock, though.”

Barnes let out a single snort and turned his face away, looking forward again. The next thing out of Barnes’ mouth was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear it.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t walk on eggshells around me.”

Sam paused for a moment, but then kept stitching, letting Barnes take the lead.

“Even…even Steve.” Barnes sighed, and clunked his head slowly back against the bathroom wall. “He’s always checkin’ up, checkin’ in. He’s not the only one. It’s…overwhelming.”

Sam just nodded. He’d been surprised the first time Steve reached out, and couldn’t help but feel the hurt when he’d asked immediately about Barnes. He’d gotten a few frantic texts since when he knew Barnes was ignoring notifications on his phone. He’d replied Barnes was an old Boomer who wasn’t used to his cell phone, and was probably fine, as he’d watched the other man laughing at whatever show he’d found on tv.

“That’s tough,” Sam agreed. Something similar had happened to him when he finished his last tour. At the time he would have given anything not to be reminded that he wasn’t broken, that he wasn’t damaged. “You just want things to feel-”

“-normal,” Barnes finished.

Sam nodded slowly and taped a large clean piece of gauze over the stab wounds. “Listen, we can drag the couch in front of the door for tonight, and Redwing’s battery is charged enough he can stand watch. If you’re feeling better in the morning, _you_ can repair the door.” Sam stood up, offering his hand. Barnes sighed heavily, but grabbed it, letting the other man help him up.

“You’ll be back to your normal, robot self in no time.” Barnes moved to start pulling the rest of his bloody shirt off, allowing Sam to help him. “This and your jacket’s a wash, though.” Barnes was already steadier since he’d been stitched up, his accelerated healing already beginning to kick in. Sam gave him a pat and moved back into the living room where he pushed the couch in front of the door, which was still open. Sam spared one glance down the hallway, still not entirely convinced they hadn’t been followed.

Barnes quiet footsteps sounded behind him.

“What are you doin’? Go to bed.”

“I’ll sleep here,” he mumbled.

“No! You can’t sleep here, I’m not gonna let you bust somethin’ else up.”

Barnes glared, and plunked himself down on the couch against the door. “Gonna stop me?”

Sam frowned and stomped back to Barnes’ room, and came back a moment later with a comforter. “You have to put this down if you’re gonna sleep here. Not gonna have you bleedin’ all over something that can’t be cleaned.”

Barnes stood up, snatched the comforter out of his hands, and put it on the couch. Then he laid down on it, staring straight up at the ceiling and not blinking.

“Alright, weirdo,” Sam grumbled. He went back to his own room and took off his gear, dragging his own comforter out to the living room. “Cap’d have my ass if I left you injured out here guarding the door by yourself.” He moved over to one of the chairs and wrapped his comforter around him.

“Hey.”

Sam closed his eyes, pointedly ignoring the other man.

_“Hey.”_

“Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Goodnight then.”

A pause. “You didn’t put the orange juice away.”

“Awww, shit,” Sam grumbled, throwing the comforter off and stomping back to the bathroom. He found the bloody plastic bag on the floor, and grabbed the orange juice out of it, which was more room temperature than cold, now, and stomped loudly back to the kitchen. “This better be good in the morning,” he grumbled. “I hate you.”

“Fine.”

“I’m gonna get you a thesaurus for Christmas,” Sam mumbled. There was a low hum in response.

Sam still wasn’t totally sure what this relationship was, what their statuses of the Avengers would be, hell, even what tomorrow would bring. But, somehow, whatever _this_ was…it made him forget about his loneliness, and his fear for a while. So for now, it was alright.

For the first time in a while, he didn’t dream about the shield under his bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me, I'm back on my bullshit. See you all in a month when this show starts airing, I'm sure. In the meantime, you can find me fanatically reblogging the same thing at redtigress dot tumblr dot com. 
> 
> Not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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